A Human Experience
by Blaineandthepips
Summary: Life isn't about something that is mythical and perfect; it is about the totality of human experience - about learning to feel. AU - Kurt and Blaine never met in high school. Kurt, an intern script-writer at age 21, is our narrator as we journey through a life-changing post-college experience involving love, life, and Blaine, a young man he meets in his new town, LA.
1. Prologue

_**A Human Experience**_

_Prologue_

_I was bullied in high school._

That seems like such an easy sentence to just throw out. Or, at least, it seems like it should be. It has, after all, been nearly three years since the reality of the bullying supposedly ceased with the cessation of high school itself.

But reality is never quite as clear cut as it seems, is it?

Bullying isn't just about the hits, the slaps, the dumpster dives and the slushies. It's not just about the bruises and the scrapes. It's the words and the feelings, the constant little attacks at one's self-esteem. It's about being told every single day that you aren't good enough.

You can go into it strong. You can swear that it is never going to get to you. Yet, if enough people knock you down, if there's no one there that really cares enough to refute those cruel words, if you're exposed to this negativity day in and day out through the entirety of your formative years, you don't escape unchanged.

For me, I think, it's more accurate to argue that you don't escape unscathed.

It's a small distinction, but it has absolutely huge consequences.

I should be alright, after all. I'm independent. I don't need a man. I'm happy not being totally dependent on somebody else. I am the master of my own destiny. I'm not going to conform to societal pressure and throw myself into behaving in a certain way because that is what everyone insists I do.

That is what I told everybody.

But that didn't make being me any less of a lonely endeavour. I just could not relate to people.

I tried, I really did. However, at that moment, it seemed like I truly never would be happy. It seemed like I was doomed to forever be the single boy that a few sympathetic people tolerate.

It wasn't as bad, back when we were all young and fresh out of high school. Relationships then were often transient. People became involved with a significant other, but those relationships turning into lasting entities where the two people were fused into one unit was the exception rather than the rule.

I had some 'friends', and that was at a time in our lives when it was acceptable for one to spend inordinate amounts of time in the company of friends.

And so, I kidded myself into believing that everything was alright, that I was 'ok'. I held on to this belief that at some point, magically, I would meet the right person, and fall into a relationship with them. I didn't expect the relationship to be something out of a fairy-tale. All I really craved was a human relationship. I craved _feelings_ - feelings of love, trust, warmth and hope. However, I was willing to accept with this everything that comes as part of the human experience. I was willing to accept uncertainty, anger, sorrow, even heartbreak. I just wanted to experience what it felt like to be normal.

I waited. I waited for this development that never came. I wanted to desperately to be normal. I continued to espouse the idea that I was independent, that nothing could touch me, and that I felt no need whatsoever to be in a relationship.

Yet, as time went on, more and more of my friends "met the right person" and fell into these wonderful, real, committed relationships with significant others. This happened more and more, until, one day, I was the only single one left.

At that point, though I tried to maintain my façade, I began to find myself forced to face reality. I was twenty-one. Not only was I the only single person in my group of friends, I had never, not once, been in a relationship. Nor had I ever even shared a mutual kiss with another human being. Even hugs went beyond me, and I found myself having to hold in my feelings of shock when I experienced even the smallest amount of physical contact.

That was probably when I began to realise that my façade, the mask of indifference that I had portrayed to the world for years, had become fused to part of my. Regardless of what I might want, in my dreams, I had become used to being this 'not-quite-person' that was ever-so-slightly removed from the world. I found that I had no real relationships with people, beyond friendships. The problem with this was, of course, that all of my 'friends' now had significant others, to whom they would always feel a much stronger connection than they ever felt to me.

So, the feelings of loneliness increased, and I was forced to face the reality that I was alone, and I was not the same as everyone else – perhaps less deserving of love. This had become fused to my mask of indifference, creating something of a self-perpetuating cycle.

Not only had I been told all through high-school that I was worth less than many of the people I came into contact with, now I was confirming it with my own behaviour and experience in adult life.

So, you see, it wasn't so much about any physical scars from that bullying. It was about the emotional scars. The emotional scars ran much deeper. I had carried that baggage with me though the three years after the great formative experience that is high school had ceased. I had tried to build up my life as something that I was happy with. And yet, those cruel words and those feelings of insignificance dwelt there, just waiting for the smallest reminder to dredge them up. Neon flashing lights would then remind me that, no matter how hard I tried, I would never be good enough.

I got to the point where I would buy soft toys, and lie in bed at night grasping at them. I would hold on to them so hard, as if with just a little more pressure I could somehow turn them into something more real, something more tangible, something capable of offering me that small amount of human contact that I so desperately desired. On the brink of sleep I would even begin to fabricate stories in my head. These stories were of a charming young man that I would meet some time in the future, with whom I would fall hopelessly in love.

It is interesting now to consider that these stories always involved me being thrown together with the mythical 'him' by pure chance. We never chose to meet; we simply could not escape each other's company until we had fallen in love. Often these situations were those we could only envisage right on the brink of sleep – ranging from "a personal growth course with assigned partners", to a prisoner of war camp, to a post-apocalyptic world where everyone was forced to live in gigantic metal boxes. The theme, however, was always the same – somebody wanted me.

Now, however, I think that there may have been another implicit theme – nobody would want me _voluntarily_.

It would take a lot more than imagination for me to overcome the scars of high school. It would take something that I would not have ever imagined to be possible to drag me out of this funk. Breaking down my strongly crafted walls of defence, deconstructing my "independence", would take time and caring that I never would have even fantasised about.

It turns out - it is never possible to completely escape your high school experiences. For better, or for worse, they shape you. High school contributes to who you are.

_However_, you are still your own person, and destiny is by no means tied entirely to your high school experience. Everyone has so much more life to experience.

For me, it took an unbelievable experience to help me overcome the past and see the bigger picture. I'm telling my story now in the hopes of inspiring you, whenever the world truly seems hopeless. I hope to inspire you to believe that there is something bigger out there for all of us to experience. This experience can be good or bad, but it is _human_, and it is the capacity to feel that makes life worth living.

My name is Kurt Hummel, and this is my story.


	2. Chapter One

A/N: Hi there – just a brief note from me.

I thought I'd post up this chapter too, just so that anyone that is interested can see where I'm kind of thinking of going with this.

This is pretty much as introspective as it gets, as I've wanted to establish the crucial parts of the back story I'm working from. I suspect from here on out there will be more plot – this is not an angst piece.

I'm not a huge fan of posting song lyrics through what I write, so that probably won't happen a lot (if at all). However, what I do find is that I sometimes have a song pop into my head whilst I'm writing that is somehow related to how I'm thinking. When that happens, I shall pop a little note at the start of the chapter, telling you what you can search on youtube to have a listen to the song, if you are so inclined.

Also, just an important little note – I don't own Glee.

I hope you enjoy my story!

_For this chapter, I would recommend searching for "How far I'll fly Napoleon" on youtube. The first link that comes up should give you an idea of the song that I'm thinking of at the moment. _

_Chapter One: Goodbye, Washington_

"I'm going to miss you, kiddo," said my father, Burt, gruffly.

"I'm going to miss you too, Dad."

"But… hey – you're finally getting away from me, moving on, and pursuing your own life. I'm so proud of you".

"Dad…"

"No, I mean it Kurt. Maybe the hand life has dealt you wasn't what you always thought it would be. Maybe you didn't go to NYADA, and maybe you no longer want to be on Broadway. But that doesn't mean that what you're doing with your life now isn't exactly what you were always meant to do."

"Dad."

"I'm proud of you, kiddo, and that isn't going to change."

I threw his hands around my father, shoving my carry-on bag out of the way.

"Remember, Kurt, remember that I once told you that it was a parent's job to love their child no matter what? Loving and supporting you doesn't need to be a job, Kurt, you're going places, and I'm going to look on with joy as I watch you succeed."

I simply couldn't talk. I had tears streaming down my cheeks, and I felt a slight lump forming in my throat.

"Dad…" I tried once again to choke out.

"Son, good luck, and I will miss you."

I opened my mouth to reply when I heard an announcement coming over the loud speaker.

_Flight ZK293, non-stop to Los Angeles, now boarding at Gate 7. That's Flight ZK293 now boarding at Gate 7._

"That's my flight, Dad, I have to go. Bye."

"Goodbye, son. I'll talk to you tonight. Take care."

With that, I turned around and walked away. I simply had to keep moving. My father was the one person in my life that had been there for me and supported me. He was there when things were good, and he remained when things were bad. Of course, he could never understand the totality of my experience; he could never have understood everything I was going through. At that time, I didn't think anyone could understand anyone else entirely. However, what mattered was not whether he 'got' everything that I said. What mattered was that he cared enough to try and understand and to try not to judge.

I simply didn't know what was coming up for me. Of course, I knew what job I had accepted across the country – I was LA bound to be an intern script writer and director for an up-and-coming television show. I mean that, in the bigger picture, I didn't know what my life would turn out like. All I knew at that time was that I was standing on the edge of the precipice of life, and I was finally ready to dive in to the next step of my experience.

At that point, I think I had convinced myself that life probably wasn't going to miraculously get better. I'd given up on waiting for my Prince Charming to ride out of the sunset with a smile on his face. I no longer expected that one day someone would look at me like I was their entire world, and then lean in to gently capture my lips in a sweet kiss.

After I didn't get in to NYADA, I decided to pursue another direction that had always interested me. I think that, at that time, I couldn't see the forest for all the trees that were surrounding me. Glee club had saved my life, quite literally. It had pulled me through the quagmire of high school, and delivered me to the other side with at least some sort of shot at life. I felt indebted to Glee club, and I felt compelled to continue to pursue the one endeavour that I had been able to share with some other people, the one thing that had allowed me to develop human connections.

I think, in hindsight, that the universe did me a favour when it compelled Carmen Thibodeau to decide that I wasn't quite suited to NYADA. It forced me to consider other things that gave me pleasure. It also forced me to consider other strengths of mine that would allow me to be eligible for late entry into tertiary level study in some form.

Everything worked out in the end – I ended up gaining admission to the University of Washington to study creative writing, and I was able to live with my father in a little two-bedroom apartment that we picked out together (I was, of course, responsible for all of the decorating choices). He returned home to Lima to see Carol, and sometimes Finn, in the weekends, and I ended up living in D.C. almost full-time.

So, with my degree in creative writing completed, I found myself off to Los Angeles, having scored myself an internship as a script writer for the new show 'Life and All Its Little Quirks' about a group of flat-mates experiencing the ups and downs of college life.

I suppose I'd go lucky, really. It's not often that they open up internship spots to recent college graduates. In this case, however, they had decided that I was likely exactly what they needed. They do say to write about what you know, after all. And who better to interject a little bit of insider knowledge into a show about college than a recent graduate – especially one with the ability to (hopefully) construct proper sentences.

I did have to modify my writing style, in the end. It had to become more conversational, more easily translatable to screen, so that people could identify with it. That was a challenge that I quickly overcame, and with that, I had fallen into my new role.

I don't know if I'll ever be famous, per say. I think often that comes with having that lucky break, or that one genius idea that launches a hit TV show. But I found that I was good at what I do. It turns out that enjoying my job and being good at it are more important to me than crowds of people staring at me and knowing my name. Who would have guessed it?

So, anyway, I boarded my plane bound for LA, filled with both nervousness and excitement.

I was finally leaving the safety net of my college life and proximity to my father. I was finally moving on as an adult. There would certainly no longer be any padded surfaces to fall back on if I got knocked down. From now on, everything mattered – every little decision and action would contribute to my future.

I'm not religious. I think I established that fact quite well when my father had his heart attack back in my Junior year of high school. I think the term 'agnostic' would far better describe my outlook on life.

I believe, firstly, that people need something bigger than themselves to believe in. However, the exact nature of that thing, or what it stands for, is something I wouldn't presume to know enough to discern. I believe that there is something akin to paths of destiny, but I don't think these are mapped out for us at birth. Perhaps there are things that are meant to happen along the way that we cannot control, but I think that we also need to accept that there is quite a lot of human agency operating in the world. I think that our own little choices do influence our lives more than we let on.

And so, I was on my way, down a path that existed for me all along, but taking a turn in my own direction. I was making my own destiny, taking this opportunity with some apprehension and a lot of anticipation.

"Can I offer you tea or coffee?"

That question from the flight attendant jolted me out of my musings, and I quickly nodded my head, "Coffee please, milk and two sugars." Of course, I would have preferred by grande non-fat mocha, but my next sip of that delicious beverage could wait until I was ensconced in LA.

She smiled as she handed it to me, and I couldn't help but think that maybe this truly was the start of something new for me.

I had just finished my coffee and was beginning to inspect the on board entertainment when I felt an odd pressure on my shoulder. Looking down, I saw a girl's head leaning on my shoulder. Its owner had clearly decided it was time to take a quick nap.

I never had liked the awkwardly close nature of economy class airplane seats, and the innumerable slight physical encounters that came with them. Physical encounters were not my strong point, let along with strangers. I supposed that I should have counted myself lucky that she was of an average size and the only part of her that was encroaching on my personal space was her head.

I gave a barely perceptible sigh, and resigned myself to a few hours of being a human pillow. I made the decision that a slight weight on my shoulder was preferable to the undoubted awkwardness that would come from waking up a complete stranger and asking them to keep their unintentional body-part movements to themselves.

It was like the universe was waiting for me to make that decision. Barely a second later, I felt a similar pressure on my other shoulder. I glanced down, while trying to remain as still as possible. Sure enough, a second head had decided I would make an excellent pillow. Just brilliant.

Most people would take from this something along the lines of – 'let this be a warning to you, always do your utmost not to get a centre seat'.

I, of course, couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of signal that I shouldn't be quite so optimistic.

Looking back, I think perhaps it was a reminder for me that there is good and bad in everything – and in everyone. After all, life isn't simply black and white.

After a smooth landing I waited at the baggage carousel to collect my bags. For some reason, every time I have to do that I wait with baited breath for my suitcase to arrive. Logically, I know that the chances of it not arriving are fairly slim, and the chances of the airline not being able to find it should it not arrive on time are even slimmer. Still, I think waiting for one's suitcase is just one of those things that must induce anxiety.

I caught the bus to my apartment as I felt that it was impossible to justify the expense of an airport transfer, given that I had specifically chosen an apartment that was centrally located in order to cut down on any transport costs.

During the ride, it occurred to me that I had taken a bit of a risk. I had taken out a lease on an apartment that would most likely quite literally form the centre of my world for the next few years, and I had done so sight unseen.

I mean, in the pictures it looked nice. Or, at least, as nice as something could be when I was renting it on a starting wage. But what did I really know about it? I certainly didn't know anything about my neighbours or the other people in my building. What if I ended up living next to a homophobe? On the other hand, I could live across the hall from a budding fashion designer.

But I suppose that's the point, really, isn't it? You never know where life is going to take you. You never know, if you step outside your door, where you might end up. While that kind of thought process may well remind you of J.R.R. Tolkien's masterful _The Hobbit_, I think his premise is valid. Life is about the unexpected. It simply isn't possible to predict everything. Furthermore, to be honest, I think that, if you could predict everything, life probably wouldn't even be a human experience. It's the unpredictability and the corresponding depth of emotion that makes life _real_.

And so, I used my swipe card to enter my new building for the first time. The doorman smiled at me, and I made a note to make a point of learning his name – it was the polite thing to do, after all. I was sure I would also end up baking him some cookies at some point, too.

My apartment was 7B – on the seventh floor of the twenty-one story building. As I understood it, there were less apartments on the high floors, as those apartments were much larger and fancier than mine (and came with corresponding price-tags).

I dragged my suitcase into the elevator, but made a point to note the location of the stairwell. I figured that it would at least give me an excuse to exercise every day, if nothing else.

And then I was there, at the door to my new home.

I took a deep breath as I turned my lock in the key and pushed the door open slowly.

It wasn't too bad – off white walls and no furniture – both things I could work with.

I gave myself a brief smile as I heard the lock click behind me. I was in my new home.

I pulled my sleeping bag and pillow out of my bag – I would go shopping for some furniture tomorrow. I also grabbed my wallet before heading out to find a take-out shop with healthy options – just until I had a chance to do some grocery shopping.

I think it was with those thoughts that reality truly hit me.

"I live alone," I muttered, as I headed back out my door and to the stairwell.

My new life was about to begin.


	3. Chapter Two

A/N: Of course, Blaine couldn't stay away for too long. We'll be seeing more of him shortly.

_For this chapter, if you so choose, you might like to youtube "__Tchaikovsky - The Nutcracker Suite- Dance of the Reed Flutes"_.

_Chapter Two: Settling In (and a Meeting)_

Even I had to admit that setting everything up for my new life was pretty exciting.

I blew through quite a bit of my savings account during my first three days in Los Angeles. It turns out furnishing an apartment, even a tiny one, is fairly pricey.

My missions for my first day were the essentials – bed, couch, fridge, and oven.

I also made a trip to the supermarket on that first day to stock up with necessities like fresh vegetables, soap and healthy snacks. While I'd brought my expensive skin care products and my favourite shampoo with me, I had left pretty much everything else either in Lima or with my father in D.C. I literally felt like I was remaking my existence.

I'm sure you'll think I'm crazy, but for some reason I absolutely love going to supermarkets in new cities. There's just something about walking down the aisles and looking at everything that is so different to you, and yet so normal to everyone that shops at that store every week. It's amazing to consider the slight variations to things you might normally purchase – such as different flavours of juice and things like that.

I can't wait to one day go overseas and get to wander around a supermarket – there will be so many new and exciting things to see!

Alright, you can judge me.

Anyway, on the second day I shopped for a few more essential items – a table, some side tables, and a lamp. I even brought a nice new TV. After all, I would need something to watch Project Runway and America's Next Top Model on.

By the third day, I was on to decorating – which was easier said than done. It may seem like I was saving myself some hassle by deciding that I would get most of the bigger pieces required for decorating once I had settled in the apartment and become used to my new job. But I really wasn't. Do you know how hard it is to choose a colour scheme when you are only ready to create part of the finished look? Well, I do. And, as you should know, I take my designs _very_ seriously.

On the fourth day, I decided to explore my new city a little. In hindsight, that was where this whole story really began.

/\*/\*/\

"Come on, Kurt. Off we go, out to explore LA!" I said to myself.

I had long been of the opinion that talking to oneself is not crazy, so long as one is aware one is doing it, and so long as one is trying to either a) mull over something; or b) convince one that what one is doing is a valid idea.

In that instance, I think I was trying to persuade myself that it was a good idea to go out and explore LA. I was probably trying to convince myself that it was alright to take yet another step towards solidifying my new life as an entity separate to that which I had already experienced.

With that, I headed off on my walking tour of downtown LA.

Only two blocks down the road, I came across a small, cosy-looking café. Of course, I would need to try out a few more local café's before I decided for certain where I would be purchasing my coffee, but simply looking through the window made me feel like I would be welcome in this establishment.

I must admit that I felt a certain level of excitement coursing through my veins as a pushed the door open.

The first good sign was the tinkling of the little bell behind the door as I pushed it open. I'm not talking electronic bell, or – worse – electronic buzzer. I'm talking a real life little silver bell, about an inch in size, which let out an absolutely charming little tinkle as I made my way through the door.

I'm absolutely positive, to this day, that I didn't manage to keep the smile of absolute delight off of my face as I glanced up at that bell.

The young girl behind the counter looked up at the sound of the bell. When she spotted me she smiled.

"Hi," I said, as I walked over to her.

"Hi there," she replied, "I haven't seen you around before – are you new to this part of the city?"

"Oh, I'm actually new to the city itself. I've just moved here from D.C."

"Well that's lovely. It's nice to meet you…"

"Oh. I'm Kurt."

"It's nice to meet you, Kurt."

"You too… Angela?" I questioned, reading off her name tag, and hoping desperately that she wasn't one of those employees that chose not to put their name on their badge.

"Thanks!" she replied.

I found myself smiling again. I didn't want to jinx it, but I was already fairly certain this might become one of my regular LA haunts.

"So, Kurt, what can I get for you today?" asked Angela.

"May I please have one grande non-fat mocha?"

"Sure thing. Was that have here or to go? And is there anything else I can get for you today?"

"To go, please. And not this time, thanks." I replied. For some reason, I found myself smiling yet again.

"Great. That comes to $3.80, please."

I dug into my pocket for my wallet, and quickly extracted a $5 note.

"You can keep the change." I noted as I handed it over.

"Thanks. Your coffee will be ready in just a moment," she said, quickly grabbing a marker and scribbling 'Kurt' on the side of the cup.

"Thanks, Angela."

With that, she moved along to the coffee machine and started to make my coffee with well-practised movements and a look of concentration on her face.

So far, so good.

Barely a minute later I had a nice warm cup of coffee in my hand.

"Thank you!" I repeated on my way out the door.

"You're most welcome. I hope to see you again soon," replied Angela, smiling pleasantly. For some reason, I genuinely believed that she would enjoy seeing me, and yet did not feel like I would be pressured into returning simply because the business wanted more of my money.

I took my first sip of the coffee as I stepped outside, and it was absolutely wonderful. It was definitely one of the best mochachinos I have ever tasted, to this day.

I very nearly turned around and went right back in to ask Angela to map out exactly what times she worked, so that I could start planning out my coffee purchasing schedule around her shifts. Of course, I didn't. That would have been insanely creepy of me, even if I didn't mean the thought in a creepy way at all. That coffee shop might have seemed like something out of a lovely day dream, but it was still a real shop and part of polite society. I would just do what everyone else does – try out the shop, see which barista I preferred, and then maybe plan my coffee schedule around the times that I manage to discern as good for getting the best coffee.

/\*/\*/\

I was strolling along the street and had just about finished that amazing cup of coffee when real life decided to come back and slap me in the face, just to remind me that Los Angeles was far from being an amazing and friendly city.

It turned out I had definitely left my pleasant little bubble. It really was to be expected – in a large city surely not everyone could be polite and accommodating.

However, it still came as a bit of a shock when a large gentleman in a very ill-fitting trench coat elbowed me roughly out of the way as he blitzed his way down the sidewalk while carrying on a very loud conversation on his equally unstylish phone.

I let out a gasp as I felt myself collide with a store-front. The (thankfully nearly empty) coffee-cup cup fell from my hand on impact with the ground, and the remnants of that amazing cup of coffee splattered over the bottom of my trouser leg.

"Out of my way, Daisy," I heard him mumble under his breath before he ran off into the sunset.

I opened my mouth to let out a disgruntled 'I beg your pardon'.

Then I closed it.

I thought through what I really wanted to say. I thought through what my father would say. I thought through what had happened the one time I had rashly stood up to a bully. That had been brave, if a little foolish. I was smarter now, and more inclined to take something of a moral high ground.

"Watch where you're going, please," I called quite loudly, attracting the attention of several passers-by who had simply tried to ignore the blatant physical assault they had just witnessed, "it would be terrible if, in your haste, you hurt anyone."

I didn't wait around to see his reaction. I wasn't interested. He certainly wasn't going to confront me, or worse, in broad daylight in downtown LA. I'd discovered since leaving Lima and living in D.C. that overt homophobia, especially of the physical kind, had mostly fallen out of use in America. At least, during daylight hours in heavily populated areas.

And so, I scooped up my coffee cup, placed it in the nearest trash can, and continued on my merry way. I could just imaging that man seething with frustration having been bested by a fairly slight young man who responded fairly politely to his blatant lack of manners or public courtesy.

I think that experience reminded me that I 'wasn't in Kanzas', so to speak. It certainly reminded me of the darker side of humanity.

What was probably most important, however, was that I overcame it _alone_. I didn't seek comfort in another person. I didn't immediately whip out my phone and text someone exclaiming about the great injustice that had been done to me. I simply dealt with the situation and moved on. I was, quite literally, _just Kurt_, and I was moving through my life, in my own way.

/\*/\*/\

The desire to avoid a permanent stain in my fairly new designer trousers caused me to decide to cut my wander short and return to my apartment. I'm fairly certain that, at that time, I had not yet come to think of it as a true 'home' in every sense of the word.

On the other side of the road, I noticed a nice open park that led back in the direction of my building.

There was nothing particularly unique or amazing about that park, but if fulfilled the basic function of a park very well. Somehow, in the middle of a bustling city, it provided a brief respite from reality. You could smell the amazing scent of fresh grass, and you could close your eyes and imagine that you were no longer in the middle of a fairly densely populated city.

That may not sound like much, but I can assure you, to anyone that has grown up outside of a large metropolis, even someone as seemingly city-oriented as me, a small opportunity to remove yourself from the hustle and bustle of everyday life can mean an awful lot.

The park wasn't large, and I was soon out the other side and back to having to navigate my way along the sidewalk.

I was, however, certain that I would be returning to that new-found little oasis. I don't think I knew at that time how important it would become to me.

The park's exit turned out to be less than a block away from the front door of my apartment building, but in the opposite direction of the coffee shop. I made a mental note of the location of each – part of my slowly developing mental map of my surroundings.

I was glancing around the street, still trying to familiarise myself with my new surroundings, as I approached the front door.

Clearly, I wasn't paying enough attention.

I felt myself collide with a firm, warm, human body. _'Not again!_' was my immediate thought.

Then a hand reached out and steadied me before I collided with any solid objects.

I quickly looked up and blurted, "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry," at a much higher pitch than I would care to admit.

The man (no, correction – _very_ attractive man) I had walked into gave a deep chuckle.

"That's alright, I'm sorry too," he replied.

"Really, I'm sorry, I should pay more attention to where I'm walking…" I continued to ramble.

He suddenly reached out and put a steadying hand on my elbow.

"Really," he emphasised, "no harm done. We probably both need to pay a little more attention."

"Sorry," I breathed again, petering off as I looked at him.

"So, I haven't run into you around here before," he started. Then he paused, his mind clearly catching up with his last sentence. "Urgh, I'm sorry, please excuse the pun. I'm Blaine, by the way."

It was at that moment I felt myself start to relax, I even let out a little smile, although I think it may have faded as I felt his gaze shift momentarily to my coffee-stained trouser leg. At least he was polite enough not to say anything about it.

"Anyway, may I ask if you're here for a visit?"

"Oh, no, I'm actually a tenant. I just moved in a few days ago," I responded, still at a slightly higher pitch than I would have liked.

Just as he opened his mouth to respond, the universe decided that I had had enough good fortune for one day.

"Kurt Hummel?" called a gruff voice from beside a truck parked at the curb. At least he knew my name now, too.

I turned around quickly. "Yes?" I questioned.

"Just got some furniture to deliver for you this afternoon, sir. Could you show us up to the apartment, please?"

"Oh, um, sure."

I turned to my new acquaintance, Blaine, unsure of how one might politely phrase the sentiment 'it was nice to meet you, but now I've got to go and sort out my furniture, because I'm kind of tired of sleeping on the floor'.

I decided to go for, "Umm… I've got a bed and stuff to set up, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short, it was nice to meet you!"

Even as I said it, I was beginning to mentally face-palm. _Honestly, Kurt, you have a degree in creative writing, and the best you can come up with is 'and stuff'. He probably isn't even gay. Why on earth are you losing all your faculties?_

My slightly self-deprecating line of thought was interrupted by none other than the man in question.

"No problem. I'm sure I'll see you around, Kurt Hummel," he replied before making his way into the building. To this day I swear he winked at me as he went - but I've never been able to confirm it.

/\*/\*/\

A/N: I should note now that I'm not turning Angela into a major OC or any sort of central character. I just needed a girl to sell coffee, and I didn't want to use any of the Glee girls, as I have a couple of other ideas for them floating around. You'll probably see her around selling coffee, but that's about it. I think this coffee shop needs a name, though. Any ideas?


	4. Chapter Three

_For this chapter, if you so choose, you might like to search for "Frank Sinatra – The Coffee Song" using youtube, just for a chuckle. Alternatively, Alanis Morissette's masterful 'Ironic' works quite well, too. _

_Chapter Three: The Past is Never Truly Gone (Or, if you prefer: Coffee)_

I think it was around about my fifth day in Los Angeles that reality truly began to sink in. I mean, I thought it had, earlier – there had certainly been enough little things that made me consider that my life had irrevocably changed.

I think the difference I felt now was that I truly was all alone in a huge city.

For those first few days, I'd thrown myself into building my new life up. There are certain things one simply can't live without – like furniture, food, and coffee. While it had been my mission to begin the process of settling in over my first few days in the city, I found that, by that fifth day, it was time for me to take a bit of a breath and begin to settle down.

It always is the way – when you stop for a breath, reality rises up and plants itself directly in front of your face so that you can no longer make every possible effort to avoid it.

Have you ever felt lonely in a big city?

I'm fairly certain it is actually far worse than feeling lonely in a small town.

I had managed to insulate myself from the feeling while living in D.C. My father was never really that far away, after all. I never once thought that maybe I was throwing away an opportunity for personal growth when I was with him, because I never considered that spending time with him would ever be a waste of my time. I don't think I ever stopped considering my father to be one of the best men I had ever, and would ever meet.

The safety blanket that was Burt Hummel had finally been ripped away from me by my move to L.A. I found myself a lonely individual with no real acquaintances to speak of.

I know that getting to know people takes time, but I had not done anything even remotely social in the entire time I had been in the city. I was hardly of the opinion that meeting a cheery barista and a far-too-attractive neighbour qualified as social activities.

I think that, even then, I was beginning to fall back into those same old patterns of insulating myself from the world, totally afraid of getting hurt. It was probably easier not to make the effort to at least go out and attempt to meet people – in that way, I could simply avoid the possibility that, in yet another city, there would be no one that would voluntarily spend time with me.

The ultimate result of this was a feeling of loneliness that was only intensified by my presence in such a large city.

It's a little bit odd, don't you think, how feelings of solitude are actually multiplied by the presence of increasing numbers of other people? I think that it has something do with the fact that the presence of more people simply reminds you of your solitude. It probably also has something to do with the fact that it is much harder to blame your solitude on those other people when there are more of them, because the probability that the problem is, in fact, them and not you is exponentially decreased.

And so, I felt alone.

I decided that morning to wander out and try another coffee shop – after all, I did have to give at least one other establishment a fair try.

It turned out that I actually lived much further from many coffee shops than I ever could have guessed. Score: two points for the Little Coffee Shop on the Corner, as I had come to think of it.

I was just about to step inside the first coffee shop I had come across after nearly fifteen minutes of brisk walking when I felt my phone begin to vibrate in my pocket.

I had long since decided that the mild inconvenience of a vibrating phone was well worth avoiding the starts that were inevitably shot ones way when one's phone began to ring loudly and obnoxiously in public.

Without bothering to check the caller I.D., I slid my finger across the touch screen to accept the incoming call.

It turns out, it was a nice surprise.

"Hey, kiddo," my father's voice drifted down the speaker.

"Hey, Dad," I replied, already feeling my masked smile begin to be replaced by something akin to a real one.

"I haven't heard from you in a couple of days. How's everything going for you out there? Have you got your apartment all sorted out and everything?"

It was amazing how such a seemingly unimportant conversation could help me to feel so much better about the world and everything it contained.

"Yes, Dad, don't worry so much!"

"I'm your father – I'm allowed to worry."

Well, that was a line of discussion from which I was never going to emerge victorious.

"So, Dad, has Carol been making sure that you are eating alright?"

"Of course, Kurt, do you honestly think that either of us is under some sort of impression that you're going to let me get away with eating unhealthy food?"

"I wouldn't put it past you. After all, all I ever seem to hear from you these days in complaints about the flavour, or lack thereof, in the food that I give you."

At that, Burt let out a hearty chuckle. "Don't worry so much, kiddo."

"So, anyway, Kurt, I did have a reason for interrupting what I'm sure is a busy morning for you."

"If you're fishing, you needn't. It should come as no surprise to you that I am currently exploring the options for decent coffee within walking distance of my place. I think I've nearly zeroed in on my new coffee shop."

"That's great, Kurt. But I really did have a reason for calling."

"Oh, ok?"

"I just thought I'd let you know that Finn got in touch yesterday to let us know how he's going on his latest assignment with the Army. He noted that he has got a three day layover in LA coming up in a couple of months, and he said that he'd love to catch up with you, if you could spare some time for your brother?"

"Of course, Dad! I'm not quite sure why that was even a question. Next time you talk to him, can you let him know to flick through an email with the dates that he's here, and I'll be in touch to sort out a time for us to meet up."

"Great, thanks, Kurt. Well, I've got a meeting to get to - since some of us don't have time to wander around exploring coffee shops – so I'll let you get back to your fun. Talk to you soon!"

"No coffee, Dad – it's not good for your heart!"

Yet again, I heard an amused chuckle drifting down the phone.

"Take care, kid."

With that, the call cut off, and I felt the reality of life in LA begin to subtly seep back into my consciousness.

I gave a barely imperceptible shake of my head, and resolved to continue with my day. Clearly, the entire world wasn't trying to isolate me. My father still cared enough to call and my step-brother cared enough to make time for me when he was in the city – clearly, the entire universe wasn't 'out to get me'.

Besides, I really did need to return to the task at hand. This was, after all, my last free week day before I was due to begin my new job. After the weekend, I would be responsible for getting myself out the door every morning in time to make it to the office, and I would need to be prepared to grab my coffee him on the way there.

With that, I walked in to the establishment in front of me – "Coffee 2 Go". Seriously, why did they bother with the '2' in their name? It wasn't grammatically correct, nor did it save more than one letter in their name. I shook my head a little in disgust – score – negative one.

The screech the mechanical door gave as it slid to the side led to me deducting the second point from the shop's score. Not off to a great start, then. I probably should have taken that as a sign not to proceed. Unfortunately for me, I never have been one to notice signs that may be glaringly obvious to most.

After ordering and receiving my coffee to go from the brusque cashier, who looked at me like I had grown three heads when I ordered my grande non-fat mochachino, I stepped outside in an attempt to escape from the metallic and impersonal interior of the shop.

It was upon taking the first sip of that cup of coffee that I decided that I would never be visiting "Coffee 2 Go" again. Not only was the coffee burnt – the milk was scalded. In addition, if they had put any less chocolate in, even the world's most powerful microscope probably wouldn't have been able to detect the presence of chocolate at all.

My taste buds were absolutely appalled by the coffee from that establishment. To this day, I swear they threaten to rise up in mutiny if I even briefly consider the possibility of returning to that shop.

Maybe that was a coincidence. Maybe that was fate giving me a nudge in the right direction. I suppose I will never really know.

All I do know is that that cup of coffee motivated me to return to the Little Coffee Shop on the Corner immediately.

It was the first time I had been in there in the morning. Both of my previous visits had occurred during afternoon wanders. However, I was now certain that this would be my permanent coffee shop. Not only was the coffee amazing, but it was also perfectly located on the way to work.

Of course, this change of time meant that I would most likely have to brave a different barista. I could only cross my fingers and hope that whomever I encountered would be as skilful as Angela.

I think I must have been lost in my musing as I pushed the door open and made my way over the door. It's the only logical explanation I can give as to why I didn't notice who was standing behind the counter as I made my way over.

The barista obviously hadn't had the same problem, their attention obviously having been raised by the tinkling of the bell over the door. They also had obviously not experienced any trouble in recognising me.

I looked up when I heard my name said in a voice I could never forget even if I tried.

"Kurt?"

At that I looked up.

"Oh my God, Mercedes!" I pretty much screeched, running the final few steps over to the girl standing behind the counter. I couldn't contain myself and found myself reaching awkwardly across the counter for a hug.

"Kurt!" she said again, seemingly flabbergasted.

Of course, at the end of our senior year all of the New Directions had sworn to keep in touch. We had managed to, for most of that first year. We still chatted as often as we could, but real life and the realities of long-distance friendships had, to an extent, begun to pull us apart, despite our best efforts.

At that time it was more of a 'hey, how are you? I haven't talked to you in ages!' occasion whenever we did get a chance to talk.

Despite that, I truly did still consider Mercedes to be one of my best friends. You simply can't fake the bonds of friendship that high school sometimes manages to inexplicably forge stronger than any metal.

"What are you doing here?" Mercedes gushed excitedly.

"Oh, I've just moved out here for work," I replied, still slightly unsettled.

"That's awesome, Kurt, what sort of job have you got?"

"I'm going to be interning as a script writer for a new network show. What about you, Mercedes, How is your music career going? I actually can't believe this! I knew you worked part-time in a coffee shop, but I never imagined that it would be this coffee shop. This is amazing." As per usual, I was hearing my mouth run away with me, but there wasn't a whole lot I could do about it – I was just so excited to see my old friend again. To be fair, my excitement was probably exacerbated by the loneliness I had been feeling that very morning.

Little did I know that this may well have just been part of the universe's grand plan finally beginning to work out.

"My career's great, thanks! I'm still mostly doing back up work, but I'm one of the lead back-up singers at my label, now. This still helps to pay the bills, though, and you know I've always loved chatting to people and people-watching, so it's a pretty perfect job for me," beamed Mercedes.

Of course, I hadn't even had to order my coffee as she had already grabbed a cup and started preparing a grande non-fat mocha. I slid the correct change on to the counter, and then turned back to where she was now standing at the coffee machine to continue our conversation.

"Oh, Kurt, don't be too obvious about it, but see if you can sneak a glance at that table over in the corner."

I looked at her quizzically, waiting for her to explain her instruction a little further.

"There's this guy that has been coming in here recently for his coffee, and he makes excellent eye candy – well worth a look."

I rolled my eyes at her good naturedly, "trust you, Mercedes. I thought you were still with Sam?"

"Oh I am, and Sam's amazing, but it doesn't mean I can't appreciate eye candy when I see it, of course."

"Of course," I replied, shaking my head a little.

"Ok, Kurt, don't look now, but he's coming over here!" whispered Mercedes frantically. I couldn't quite work out why she seemed so excited, if she truly was as in love with Sam as she claimed to be – it turns out that she had left a crucial piece of information out of her description of her handsome customer, something which I would find out shortly.

"Hey, Kurt, I see you've found the best local coffee place – well done!" I heard from behind me.

In a slight state of shock, I swivelled on the spot. Behind me I found none other than the friendly neighbour I had met the other day.

"Oh, hey, Blaine!" I replied quite enthusiastically, "it's so nice to see you again."

I still couldn't work out why everything that came out of my mouth when I was faced with this particular stranger sounded like something out of a cheesy teen television show.

"You too. Listen, now it's my turn to have to run off – I have to get to work. It was nice seeing you again, though. I'd strongly recommend trying one of the chocolate chip marshmallow cookies – they're excellent!" he advised, flashing a grin at Mercedes, who was looking between us in shock.

"Bye," we both managed as he turned and left.

"Hang on, Kurt, you know him?" Mercedes immediately questioned.

"Oh, sort of, I kind of walked into him the other day outside my building – it turns out we're neighbours," I replied, blushing a little.

"You like him," Mercedes observed.

"What? No! I only just met him, and I know nothing about him. Besides, he's probably not even gay," I rambled.

"Oh, sweetie. I think he might be. I saw an incredibly attractive woman hit on him the other day, and he just smiled, and gave her back the piece of paper with her number on it," replied Mercedes. "I couldn't quite hear what he said, but I think it might have been something along the lines of 'not on your team'."

"Honestly, Mercedes, you and your imagination!"

At that, she simply chuckled. We fell in to a comfortable silence.

"I should probably head off now," I observed reluctantly a few minutes later, having finished most of my excellent cup of coffee while talking to her at the counter.

"Yeah, probably," she agreed.

"Hang on!" she exclaimed as I turned to leave, "give me your new number? We need to have a proper catch up over dinner and a movie, or something!"

"Sure," I replied, smiling and handing over my phone, then flicking her through a text when she had given me her number.

As I left my definite new favourite coffee shop, I couldn't help but be amazed that my feeling of loneliness had been eased so much by my few encounters that morning. I didn't want to get too hopeful, but I couldn't help but think that maybe something was finally beginning to work for me.


End file.
